


Friendship

by Tommyboy



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyboy/pseuds/Tommyboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post Richard accident, just a day in a life type story.  from both perspectives</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendship

Top Gear - Slice of life piece - just a little self -perspective piece, or a POV of one character about another

James POV

I’m watching Jeremy make the curve doing the power slide, when I hear a groan next to me. I’ve heard this groan. I turn to see Richard looking confused and other emotions running across his face. I reach out to him to hold him steady.

“You all right?” I asked.

He closes his eyes and me mutters, “Memory burp.” I almost chuckle, Richard using Jeremy’s term for what I’ve grown to know to be the current downside since the accident. Richard is having memory flashes again. I want to pull him into hug, but we are out in the open, crew members around.

I watch as Richard reaches up to pinch his nose. He’s already feeling the effects of this episode. I move to start having him walk. We are close to the caravan the Jeremy insisted we have set up this time around for filming.

We are about fifty steps from the trailer. Richard doesn’t fight me; he relaxes in my hold, letting me move him as needed. I am grateful for his trust.

When we get to the trailer, I open the door and tell Richard to lift his feet. I get him up and in and towards the back, to the bedroom. I sit him down on the side of the bed.

I ask him, “You want your meds?”

He usually protests about using the prescriptions that he has been given, but I think now after time, he’s accepting that they can help him. I can read the expressions on his face, debating about it.

“Richard?” I say with exasperation.

“Yes, in my bag,” he answers. I get up and head out to the reception area and find his carry all bag. I open it and rummage through it, finding the bottles. I look at what he has and pull out the one that he needs for the migraine. I pick up a bottle of water off the counter on the way back.

I find Richard trying to lean forward to take off his shoes but he’s mumbling under this breath when he realizes that he’s wearing boots.

“Stop moving about,” I tell him. He sits back up. I take his hand and place two pills on it and hand him the water. I watch as he takes a long drink from the bottle and hands it back to me.

I crouch down and pull one boot and then the other off and place them by the bed. I stand up and help Richard out of his jacket and long sleeved shirt. I throw them to one side of the bed, thinking I’ll hang them up once he’s asleep. Helping Richard, I have him lay down, covering him with the duvet.

I decide that a cool cloth would help him. I head back into the caravan and find a flannel and soak it in water, wringing it out. I return to the bed and sit on the side, placing the cool rag on his forehead. While I’m there, I fiddle with his hair, uncovering that high forehead of his.

He reaches out for some reason, and I quickly latch on to his hand, holding it.

It’s tough for him to admit he needs something, someone when he’s like this. For all his fierceness, tough exterior, at times he needs to know he’s not alone. Over the last few weeks I hope I’ve shown him I won’t leave him alone, that I’m here to help him. Jeremy is here to help him.

The drugs are slowly taking affect, but he’s panicking. He doesn’t like being out of control, to let the drugs to do their job. I calm him tell him not to fight it, to sleep and he would feel better once he got some sleep.

At last he falls asleep, holding on to my hand. I hold it for some time, thinking how lucky we are that he is here and we can make it through anything that is thrown at him.

Richard’s pov

It hit me, like they usually do, out of nowhere, memories returning with no reason. I had been standing by James watching Jeremy on the track driving the new BMW. I must of moaned or something when the memories came back. James had been watching Jeremy do a power slide in the curve, and then turned and reached out to me to see if I was all right.

Its times like this I curse to myself. I hate when this happens. I can’t quickly read and file the memories away properly so it becomes a rush of swirling information.

“You all right?” James asked.

I close my eyes, my head growing in an intense headache, approaching migraine. I mutter, “Memory burp.” It’s a phrase Jeremy came up with when he was around at another time I had a recovering memory dump.

I bring my hand up to put pressure on my nose. It’s hurting already.

Hands grab me and start directing me. I don’t open my eyes, the light would hurt more. I know its James directing me. I relax a little, letting him direct me, not looking, and knowing he’ll take care of me.

We weren’t far from the caravan. I can assume we are heading towards it now.

Soon I’m being told to lift my feet to go up the steps. I step up and know its four steps in. I’m directed back towards the bed area. Jeremy insisted on a true caravan to be out here this season for such. “If you need to nap, it might as well be on a bed instead of that back breaking sofa,” he huffed when I arrived my first day back to do filming of the features. It’s nice to know he cares.

I was handled to sit on the bed. “You want your meds?” James asked me.

I don’t want them, but it hurts. I think this each time. I hate needing them. I don’t like being depended on them. I just wished this would go past.

“Richard?” I hear James say with exasperation. He’s waiting for my answer. My head is pounding, I guess I need them.

“Yes, in my bag,” I direct James.

James walks away, going into the reception area where I had dropped my bag earlier and rummage through it for my bottles.

I sigh heavily and try to reach down to take off my shoes. But today I’m wearing my boots. “Oh, bugger,” I mumble, thinking how hard it’s going to be to get off my boots.

“Stop moving about,” James admonishes me upon his return. He takes my hand and places two pills and hands me a bottle of water. I take the two white pills and take a healthy drink under James scrutiny. Once that was complete, James moved to help get one of my boots off then the other.

Hands start working to get my jacket off and my long sleeved shirt. James has me lay back and cover me with the soft duvet. I hear James walk away but return. A cool cloth is placed on my forehead and eyes. I feel the bed dip, adjusting to having James sit on the bed. Fingers move my hair, presumably away from the flannel.

I reach a hand out, looking for his other, which he grabs. He won’t leave me alone; I know that, to face what I have. He’ll sit there, letting me relax and do what I need to do to get myself back together.

He whispers quietly, telling me to breathe in, and out, to a rhythm, to concentrate on what hit me. Soon the drugs take effect, making me drowsy. I don’t want to sleep and I try to fight it. James sooths me, telling me it’s for my own good, don’t fight it. Finally I let sleep claim me, holding his hand as a life line.


End file.
